Heartsick
by memorysdaughter
Summary: Claudia knew a lot of things, and one of the things she knew was that she was definitely not ready for motherhood. And for the most part, her body agreed with her. Clinks, in a major way. Set post-Season 4, but with several AU changes.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: **I've been sitting on the first parts of this story for awhile, but I finally realized that the best way to prod myself into writing more is to post these first few parts, get a response, and then let that drive me.

I had an opportunity recently to look over comments and suggestions and messages I got throughout the writing of "The Fallen Kind" and I was extremely grateful for all the support I had been given. My readers and reviewers are just amazing, and I'm in a stage of transition in my life where I can use some positive light and love.

Anyway, more soon. Enjoy!

* * *

It had been an interesting but exhausting week. Artie, aided by the Regents, had finally announced that Myka would be taking over for Artie after he retired, something Myka never thought would happen. But if it made them feel better, she would let Artie train her.

Steve and HG were in Ireland, looking for the shepherd's crook of Saint Patrick, with little success. In their absence, Claudia was running interference and keeping up with research and Pete was spending equal amounts of time doing inventory and playing fetch with Trailer while Artie did his best to impart as much knowledge as possible to Myka. It made for long days, but Myka thought they were handling things remarkably well.

That was, until she heard someone vomiting in the B and B's bathroom. Since she and Claudia were the only ones home, Myka was immediately worried.

"Claud?"

"Uggghh," came the weak response.

Myka knocked softly on the door and then opened it, sticking her head into the bathroom.

Claudia was on the floor next to the toilet, leaning weakly against the bathroom cabinet. Her face was coated with a sickly sheen of sweat and she was a pale shade of green. The last time Myka had seen Claudia look so ill, she had been unconscious as Artie tried to use Rheticus' Compass to bring Joshua back from an inter-dimensional rift.

Myka hurried into the bathroom and wet a washcloth, then knelt down on the bathmat next to Claudia and wiped her face. "Better?"

"Thanks," Claudia whispered through cracked lips. "That feels nice."

Myka realized Claudia was still in her pajamas. "Have you been in here all night?"

"Yeah."

"You need to go back to bed," Myka said, taking charge in her usual manner. "I'll get you some ginger ale and toast."

"No, no," Claudia protested, her face going a darker shade of green. She gagged and leaned over the toilet, retching.

"Claud, you're really sick," Myka said, worried. "I'm going to call Artie."

"_No!"_ Claudia practically yelled, and tried to get up off the floor. "Please don't tell Artie."

"Claudia, he'll understand," Myka said, reaching for her Farnsworth. "Everyone gets sick now and then. It'll be all right."

Claudia tried to say something, but her stomach rebelled again and she leaned over the toilet, gagging and retching.

"Myka, you're late" were Artie's first words.

"I know," Myka said. "But I'm here with Claudia, and she's really sick."

"What?" Artie snapped to attention.

"She's been throwing up all night," Myka said.

"Let me see," Artie said, his tone gruff and authoritative.

Myka tilted the Farnsworth so Artie could see Claudia, sweaty and pale on the floor. The older man muttered something that could have been an epithet or a prayer. "I'm going to call Vanessa," he said as Myka turned the Farnsworth back to her. "Try to get some water or ginger ale in her, and we'll meet you at the B and B."

"I'm _fine,"_ Claudia protested weakly. "You don't have to call Vanessa."

She swallowed hard as a hot wave of nausea swept her, and she leaned her head back against the cabinet, closing her eyes.

"Call Vanessa," Myka said, and snapped the Farnsworth shut. "Claud, I'm going to get you some ginger ale, see if we can settle your stomach."

Claudia breathed in little sips of air, trying to keep from vomiting.

"I'll be right back," Myka promised.

She hurried downstairs and grabbed a cold bottle of ginger ale out of the refrigerator, yanked off the bottle top, and ran back upstairs. Claudia was hunched over the toilet again, retching.

"Oh, Claud," Myka whispered. "I'm so sorry."

She wiped Claudia's mouth with the wet washcloth again and watched as the redhead sank back against the cabinet, looking drawn and exhausted.

"Take a sip," Myka suggested, and carefully brought the ginger ale up to Claudia's lips.

Claudia grimaced, but she obediently took a sip of the cold soda. Her stomach protested, but Claudia took several deep breaths and the mouthful of soda stayed down.

"I'm going to close my eyes," she whispered to Myka. "I'm not dead. Just… tired."

"I understand," Myka said.

The younger woman managed eight whole minutes of close-eyed reflection before she had to throw up again. Myka supported as best she could, offering cool washcloths and sips of ginger ale.

Twenty minutes after Artie's first Farnsworth call, the Warehouse's head agent and his paramour, Dr. Vanessa, showed up at the B and B. Myka ceded her place on the bathmat to the doctor, who came in smiling, toting her kit. "Good morning, Claudia," Vanessa said quietly, giving the redhead a small smile. "Although I bet it hasn't been a great morning for you so far."

"It was a rough night," Claudia croaked.

"This started yesterday?" Vanessa asked, leaning in to take Claudia's pulse.

"Last night."

"What did you eat yesterday?"

Claudia shook her head weakly. "Nothing much. My stomach was upset all day."

"She drank half of the ginger ale," Myka offered.

Vanessa took in the pathetic girl on the floor in front of her. "Well, I'm pretty sure you're dehydrated," she said. "Your lips look very dry, and if you've been vomiting all night, your fluids are going to be depleted. I could take you into the urgent care clinic to rehydrate you, but I think you'd probably prefer to stay here, hmm?"

Claudia nodded.

"All right," Vanessa said. "I'll have to get some supplies out of my car. Myka, can you find a bucket for Claudia? And Artie, will you help Claudia back to bed?"

Given their assignments, the Warehouse team broke into motion. Myka went in search of a clean bucket, and Artie scooped Claudia off the bathroom floor and carried her to her bedroom.

She nearly disappeared in the pillows and blankets, her face sickly green against the blue of her pillowcase. "Sorry, Artie," she whispered.

"What are you sorry about, dum-dum?" he asked, sitting on the bed next to her. "People get sick."

She was about to say more, but nausea rose up in her stomach and she shot upwards, gagging. Artie grabbed the garbage can from the corner and held her hair out of the way as she vomited.

"Kiddo, it'll be okay," he coached her, rubbing her back.

They rode out two more bouts of the same before Myka appeared with a bucket, and three more after that before Vanessa came in with another, larger kit.

"Still?" Vanessa asked, giving Artie a worried glance. He nodded.

"Yeah, we need to get some fluids in you," Vanessa said. She quickly set to work, tying a rubber tourniquet around Claudia's upper arm and tapping possible veins in the girl's arm. Once a suitable vein was found, the doctor slid an IV needle into the vein and attached a bag of clear fluid to the top. "This should help you feel better very soon. And I'm going to give you a big shot of anti-emetic, which should make your stomach calm down."

She drew up a syringe of medication from a little glass bottle, and injected it carefully into Claudia's upper arm. "There. All done for now."

The sounds of a Farnsworth broke the calm in the sick-room, and Artie stood up, grumbling, reaching for his Farnsworth. "What do they need now?"

"I'll go grab the laptop and get ready for research," Myka said.

"Go help her," Vanessa said to Artie. "I'm just going to complete my exam on Claudia."

Artie went, but he didn't look too happy about it.

Vanessa sat in his place and smoothed the hair off Claudia's sweaty forehead. "Have you eaten anything strange the last couple of days?"

"No."

"Been around anybody with a stomach bug?"

"I don't think so." Claudia struggled to sit up, gagged, and retched in the bucket's direction. Vanessa held the bucket and waited for the spasm to pass.

"Any chance you could be… pregnant?" the doctor asked, speaking the last word delicately.

If it was possible, Claudia went a whiter shade of pale, and Vanessa thought the girl was going to pass out then and there.

"Just a thought," the doctor said hurriedly.

"No," Claudia groaned, and Vanessa thought she was giving a negative answer to the question.

"Well, then that's out of the way. Maybe it's just…"

"No," Claudia interrupted, and reached for the bucket again. It was a false alarm, though, and the girl's pale face was sweaty but resolved as she straightened up. "No… that makes sense."

And then she felt nauseous again. "Oh, God, it's real, isn't it?"

"Lean back," Vanessa suggested. "You look like you're going to pass out."

"I feel like I'm dying," Claudia said. "I'm not dying, am I?"

"No, sweetheart," Vanessa said, giving Claudia a smile. "No, although I bet it feels like it."

Claudia let out a shaky breath and lay back against the pillow. "I really just thought I had the flu, but then I did some thinking, and…"

"And it's not the flu," Vanessa said.

Claudia nodded slowly, and then an anxious expression crossed her face. "Oh, God, what am I going to tell Artie? He's going to kill Steve."

"Steve?" Vanessa asked. "Is the father?"

"Well, it's either Steve or a second Immaculate Conception, and even though we work in the Warehouse…" Claudia rolled her eyes.

"I get the picture," Vanessa said, and patted the girl's hand. "Don't worry about Artie. I predict that he will be extremely angry at first, and then he'll get over it."

"It's the anger I'm not looking forward to," Claudia said. She felt sleepy.

"Get some rest," Vanessa said, seeing Claudia's eyes droop closed. "There will be plenty of time for talking later."

She closed Claudia's bedroom door behind her.

Myka was in the hallway, looking worried.

"Agent Bering," Vanessa said. "Can I help you with something?"

"She's pregnant, isn't she?" Myka asked.

Vanessa thought about lying, but Myka was extremely perceptive, and anyway, there was no point. The Warehouse's family was going to have to know sooner or later. "Yes. And she needs her friends around her now more than ever."

It was a sappy sentiment, but Myka knew the doctor's heart was in the right place.

* * *

When Claudia woke up again, light was slanting across the room in long chunky rays. A quick check of her watch confirmed that she had slept through the rest of the morning and part of the afternoon; it was now three-thirty.

And Myka was sitting in the armchair in the corner of her room, reading.

Claudia sat up slowly. "Good book?" she rasped out. Her throat hurt.

"It's all right," Myka said. "I've read better."

She put the book down and looked seriously over at Claudia. "How do you feel?"

"Honestly? Like I took a ride in the back of a cement mixer," Claudia said.

"How's the nausea?"

"Still extremely nauseating," Claudia said. "I thought Dr. Vanessa's medicine was supposed to fix all that."

"Your stomach's probably icky because it's empty," Myka said. "I brought you some more ginger ale and some dry toast."

"Thanks," Claudia said, touched.

Myka picked up a plate from beside the chair and brought it over to Claudia, sitting down on the bed. "So… how are you going to tell Steve?"

Claudia took a careful bite of the toast and chewed thoughtfully. "I was thinking I'd just slip it into our next Farnsworth chat. 'No, the shepherd's crook wouldn't be causing floods, just infestations of snakes. And by the way, I'm pregnant.'"

She swallowed and took a drink of the ginger ale. "Artie can't kill him if he's still in Ireland looking for an artifact. And with any luck, the artifact will kill him before he can get back here and get killed by Artie. Good thing we got him off the metronome, huh?"

"Claudia, why do you think Artie's going to kill Steve?" Myka asked.

Claudia looked down at the toast. Her stomach was churning again. "Well, Artie thinks of himself as my father. And countless movies and TV shows have shown me that, generally, over-protective fathers react murderously towards the man they believe 'sullied' their beautiful daughters."

She pushed the toast towards Myka. "Please take that away. I can't look at it anymore."

Myka quickly grabbed the toast plate and set it on the floor. Claudia sighed in relief. "Thank you."

"You can't tell him by Farnsworth," Myka said.

"I know," Claudia said. "It was a joke. Apparently not a very good one, but I've been throwing up a lot and I'm probably not quite right in the head."

She closed her eyes. "Oh, God, and I have to tell Joshua. And Pete, and HG, and…"

"Slow down," Myka said. "You don't have to tell anyone right now. I know, and Dr. Vanessa knows, and until you start feeling better, there's no need for anyone else to know."

But Claudia had passed the point of sheer exhaustion and was completely losing it. "We can't have a baby here, Myka. Somebody almost dies every week! And what if – what if it's not normal? What if an artifact got to it and it's going to have two heads? I was doing inventory two days ago! And…"

Her face went sweaty and pale again, and Myka held up the bucket. Claudia retched and then appeared to calm herself.

Myka rubbed her back. "Deep breaths, Claud. Deep breaths."

"I'm okay. I'm okay," Claudia said after a moment. "Oh, God, no I'm not!"

"Deep breaths," Myka coached.

"I'm so scared, Myka," Claudia whimpered. "I'm an idiot! I'm only good at breaking laws! I never went to college – hell, I never went to most of high school! _I wore Volta's lab coat! Willingly!_ I can't raise a child!"

Myka put her hands on Claudia's shoulders. "Listen," she said. "Whatever happens, even if Artie kills Steve or Bronzes him or sends him to Outer Siberia, you will not have to do this alone. We're family, and we take care of each other."

Claudia sniffled, and wiped her eyes with the back of her hand.

"And so you never went to college," Myka said. "So you wore Volta's lab coat. Here's the thing, Claud – you're brilliant. You're kind, you're understanding, you're funny, you're talented in so many ways. How could these things _not_ be the kind of things that get passed on? Honestly, if _anyone_ was going to bring a kid into this family, I'd pick you and Steve in a heartbeat."

"Really?"

"Really," Myka said.

Claudia put one hand to her belly. She knew it was ridiculous, but she could swear she felt something – a light, maybe, or a pulse – something greater than herself. For a moment her head swam and there was a loud roaring noise in her ears, but then she stabilized, blinking tears from her eyes. "So what now?" she asked Myka, her voice sounding impossibly far away.

"Now?" Myka smiled. "Now we start thinking of artifacts that'll protect Steve when Artie hears about this."

Claudia laughed, and for the first time since the night before, she felt calm.


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: **Thank you to all my readers and reviewers! You guys are awesome! And I'm totally thrilled that some of you are discovering "The Fallen Kind" and other things I've written - that's extremely flattering.

There was supposed to be more to this chapter, but I left the rest of my notes at work, so this is it for tonight. I'll have more time to write tomorrow and so there should be another chapter up then.

Enjoy!

* * *

"All right," Vanessa Calder said as she closed the door to the Warehouse's examination room. As usual, it remained empty for the majority of the year, except during Artie's annual appendectomy. "Sit on down."

Obediently Claudia sat on the examination table, putting her sweaty hands between her knees.

"I'll run a quick blood test, just to make sure that our suspicions are correct," Vanessa said. "It'll take a little bit of testing, but I can tell you how far along you are."

"Six weeks," Claudia said, watching Vanessa prepare a syringe and alcohol pads. "Six or seven."

She gave Vanessa a wry smile. "I calculated."

Vanessa nodded, the hypodermic ready. "Okay, small pinch."

She drew a tube of blood and quickly wiped Claudia's arm with an alcohol pad. "Should just take a minute."

The doctor turned to the tray she'd prepared with the pregnancy test, depositing a drop of blood on the end of the stick. "So, did you figure out how…"

Claudia bolted from the exam table and rushed towards the garbage can in the corner. Her stomach upended itself and she vomited up the four bites of toast she'd eaten. Hot tears burned in her eyes and she rocked back on her knees.

Vanessa was beside her in a moment, offering a wet washcloth. Claudia tried to smile, but she burst into tears again. "Vanessa, I can't do this."

"It gets easier," Vanessa said. "At least, I've been told it gets easier."

Claudia wiped her face with the washcloth. "I can't."

Vanessa brushed Claudia's hair away from her face. "You have options, sweetie."

"Steve wouldn't… wouldn't want…" Claudia shook her head. "Wouldn't want me to do anything without talking to him."

"He'll be home soon, and then you can talk about it," Vanessa said.

* * *

_He'll be home soon, and then you can talk about it_. Vanessa's words rang through Claudia's head. She lay in bed, staring at the clock on the bedside table. She'd watched the numbers tick by, powerless to move, as though she was pinned in place by the passage of time. And next to the clock, pinning her as much – if not more – than time's onward swell, the positive pregnancy test and the bottle of prenatal vitamins.

Claudia felt sick just looking at them.

The B and B had settled into its nighttime stillness; Artie had returned to the Warehouse and Myka was in her room. The older agent had checked on Claudia an hour before, and since then there had been only silence from her room.

Hot tears filled Claudia's eyes as she stared at the clock. She was almost numb from exhaustion. The roiling nausea in her stomach was not the only reason she was still awake, though. Part of her was still wishing that Steve would call, just like he had the past few nights. Another part was terrified – if he called, she knew those dangerous two words would slip out of her mouth without her permission – _I'm pregnant._

At last she was too tired to go on contemplating time's onward march, and she reached up and turned off the light.

She had just closed her eyes when her phone rang. She groaned, and not trusting herself, let it go to voice mail.

In the dark she listened to the phone ring and ring and ring, thinking of how this whole mess had gotten started.

* * *

"_You're doing it again."_

"_What?"_

"_Staring."_

_Her Jinksy smiled, his cheeks going the most adorable shade of red. "I'm sorry."_

"_Are you feeling all right, Jinksy? You've been staring at me a lot lately."_

"_So?"_

"_So, I've either got something disgusting on my face or…"_

"_Or what?"_

"_Or you see something you like." She wasn't sure where the words were coming from. "Or maybe you just need to get your eyes checked," she added, almost positive that she was blushing the same shade as her partner._

"_And what if I do?"_

"_You'll look cuter in glasses," Claudia offered._

"_So you think I'm cute?"_

_Claudia dropped her clipboard and her pen skittered under the closest shelf. She was glad Steve couldn't see her bright red face as she knelt down and hunted for it._

_When she found it, she rocked back on her heels, thinking Steve would be up on the shelf, looking for the artifact Artie had sent them to look for. But he was right there on the floor next to her, a smile on his face._

"_What?" Claudia asked._

_And Steve leaned in and kissed her._

* * *

In the dark, Claudia bolted to her feet and stumbled towards the garbage can. As her stomach upended and she threw up, hot tears burned in her eyes. Over and over, she gagged and retched until she was empty. And in the silence following, as she knelt on the floor like a penitent, tears streaming down her face, she realized what had changed.

The phone had stopped ringing.

* * *

She blinked, hearing voices somewhere above her.

"It's like the fluids did nothing." That was Vanessa. "And I could have overdosed her on anti-emetic and she'd still be throwing up."

"And no one else knows?"

"You and I, and Agent Bering," Vanessa replied. "At this juncture."

"Good."

In her half-asleep haze Claudia recognized the second voice. _Mrs. Frederic_.

"Has this ever happened before?" Vanessa asked.

Claudia blinked. The room was still dark.

"Many people have become pregnant before," Mrs. Frederic said, a hint of amusement in her tone. "But I believe you are referring to someone chosen by the Warehouse going through a pregnancy. It has happened before. It is not the recommended course of action."

Vanessa snorted.

"Yes. Miss Donovan has a way of doing things in the most difficult manner possible," Mrs. Frederic agreed. "Her connection to the Warehouse is very strong and, unfortunately for her, her body is going to see any other competing energy as a threat. Especially the… baby."

"It explains the hyperemesis," Vanessa said.

"Yes," Mrs. Frederic said. "It may be months before things stabilize."

"We can take some actions now," Vanessa said. "We _need_ to take action now. In the morning I want to put in a semi-permanent IV line – otherwise her body is going to starve itself and she's only going to get sicker."

Claudia moaned. She didn't want to hear any more of _that_ discussion.

"Claudia?" Vanessa asked, and the bedside lamp went on.

Claudia blinked. She wasn't anywhere near her bed, but sprawled on the floor next to the trash can. Self-consciously she pushed herself somewhat upright and tried to wipe her mouth.

Mrs. Frederic's pointy-toed shoes clacked into Claudia's line of sight, and then the Caretaker knelt before the redhead. "Hello, Claudia," Mrs. Frederic said, a smile on her face. "Congratulations on your new adventure."

"Thank you?" Claudia wasn't sure what there was to celebrate, not now.

"You are in excellent hands with Vanessa overseeing your case," Mrs. Frederic went on.

"I'm not any good to the Warehouse like this," Claudia found herself saying. She wasn't sure where _that_ had come from; her brain was full of worry and anxiety and her body ached from the constant nausea and vomiting, but until now she hadn't even considered her job.

"There are times we are good to the Warehouse," Mrs. Frederic said, "and times in which the Warehouse must carry us. I think, my dear, that you will be carried through this."

She leaned forward and hugged Claudia to her. And Claudia didn't even care that she was in her sweaty pajamas, face crusty with vomit and tears streaming from her eyes; she just leaned into the hug and let the Caretaker take care of her.


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N:** So, this was a little slower than I anticipated, but here's the next chapter. Chapter Four will be longer, and I hope to have it up by Sunday evening.

Thank you to all of my reviewers and readers - you guys are amazing!

Enjoy!

* * *

Claudia spent the rest of the night on the floor in the bathroom. Whatever healing powers Mrs. Frederic had conferred on her through the hug wore off quickly, and within an hour or so she was huddled in front of the toilet again, retching and vomiting. She wasn't sure _what_ she had in her to throw up – the little bites of toast or saltine crackers and the sips of ginger ale or water should have been out of her system long ago, but yet her stomach still rebelled and she heaved and gagged. If she wasn't absolutely positive it was absolutely impossible, she would have believed her body was trying to get rid of the embryo, to throw it up like those bites of toast.

Around three in the morning, Myka knocked softly on the bathroom door and came in. "HG just called," she said. "They found the shepherd's crook. They're coming home."

Claudia looked up at her with exhausted eyes.

"Oh, Claud," Myka said.

"This is the kind of thing people are supposed to be happy about, right?" Claudia asked. "People who aren't jacked into a compendium of mythical artifacts?"

"Even those people can be happy about it," Myka said. "It's… it's a new adventure, Claud. A new journey."

_I didn't ask for this journey_, Claudia thought. _I don't want to go._

"Any thoughts about how to tell Steve? Or Artie?" Myka ran water into a cup and passed it to Claudia.

Claudia took a tentative sip. "I've figured out that _not_ telling can only last for so long. I mean, eventually I'm going to get a belly, and it seems inconsiderate to let them know only when I go into labor."

Myka looked down at the younger woman. "Claud, you know Steve's going to be thrilled, right?"

"I don't know what to think," Claudia said. "I just know that right now, I can't do this alone."

She took a longer drink of water, relishing the coolness as it trickled down her throat, completely aware that it would be the very next thing to come back up. "Mrs. Frederic says…"

Suddenly Claudia found herself almost breathless with terrifying anxiety. The Caretaker's words pounded between her temples, and she felt woozy. "I mean, I know I just found out, and I haven't had a whole lot of time to think about it, but I want…"

The words surprised her as they tripped out of her mouth. "I want this baby, Myka. I don't want the Warehouse to see it as a competing energy and try to get rid of it. I love the Warehouse, but it's… it's not part of my body."

Her head swam, pounding with angry pain. She wasn't even sure where the words were coming from, but as they resonated into the air, she found they were true. "I can't… Myka, do you think I'm saying this because I'm dehydrated or… is it the right thing?"

Claudia leaned forward, putting her head in her hands. She wanted Steve there next to her. His comfort, his calm nature, the feeling of his hand in hers – she just wanted him. He could make sense of all of this, all the vomiting and tears and indecision and panic and worry about the future. Without him, she was lost, adrift in a sea of unknowing.

"I think the Warehouse has never made any decision easy," Myka said. "And I think that if the baby is Steve's, he ought to help you make the decision. He deserves it, and you deserve to have someone help you figure it out."

The older agent looked down at Claudia. "Claud, they'll be home soon. In a couple of hours. Can I help you back to bed? You look absolutely wretched."

"Nobody looks good at three in the morning," Claudia snapped.

"Yes, but you look even worse," Myka said, completely unoffended. "Please, Claud, just go back to bed for a little bit."

She leaned down and pulled Claudia to her feet, the redhead wincing with pain as her tired, weary limbs unfolded. In another minute she was back in her bed, with Myka putting a freshly-cleaned trashcan next to the bed, "_just in case_."

And though the nausea was still roiling in her stomach, she found that the exhaustion won out, and her eyes slid closed, pulling her back to her memories of how it had all began.

* * *

_Shocked, Claudia broke away from the kiss, staring at Steve. She felt like her lips were on fire. She couldn't think of anything to say, and thoughts were whirling through her head; she couldn't put any of them to rest._

_She bolted to her feet and ran._

_A few hours later, Claudia was still hiding on the back porch at the B and B. Part of her was waiting for Steve to come and find her, so they could talk about what had transpired in the Warehouse. Another part of her was mortified. She had kissed Jinksy. Her Jinksy. Her __gay__ Jinksy. Nothing was making much sense._

_From somewhere inside the house came a voice: "Marco!"_

_Without thinking, Claudia instantly responded, "Polo!"_

_And that was that. A few minutes later, Steve appeared on the terrace. He sat down at the table, and for a few minutes they studiously avoided looking at each other. At last Steve said, "Can we talk about this?"_

"_I'm sure it's in our repertoire," Claudia said. She hadn't wanted to come off as snarky, but she couldn't help herself._

"_Okay," Steve said._

"_Did you… why did you kiss me?"_

"_Because you're beautiful," Steve replied. "Because you're smart, and funny, and… and I can't stop myself."_

"_But you're…" Claudia trailed off, still confused._

"_Yes," Steve said. "At least, I thought I was."_

"_And then you kissed me."_

"_Yes. I did."_

"_So, are you…?"_

_Steve leaned forward and took her hands in his. "I don't know if there's a specific __word__ for what we are, but it's something special. Something amazing. There are sparks. You can't tell me there aren't sparks."_

_Claudia mumbled something that could have been assent._

"_Sometimes relationships transcend definition," Steve went on. "I can't find a word for what we are, because I don't think there __is__ one. But I care very deeply for you. I would give my life for you, Claudia."_

"_And I would give mine for you, Jinksy," Claudia said. "I've basically sacrificed mine for you – it's how we're still here having this awkward conversation."_

"_Did I upset you?" Steve asked. "Did you… not… enjoy…?"_

_Claudia flushed. "No, I… I enjoyed. Very much so."_

"_Then do we have to have a word for what we are? Isn't love more important than what words we use to describe it?" Steve leaned in a little closer and brushed his lips against her cheek. "You're amazing, and what we do together is amazing, and I might not be able to describe it, but I know what I love. I know what I feel."_

_Claudia smiled and bowed her head._

"_You amaze me every day, Claud," Steve said._

* * *

"Claud?"

"Hmm?" Claudia blinked. Light was curling under the shades and she realized she had fallen asleep.

"I'm home," Steve said. "We got the crook. Took it away from a very disgruntled high school girl. It's a pretty good story."

Claudia rolled over and pushed herself into a sitting position. She wondered how much time she had before she would have to throw up again – how many minutes did she have to get out two little words with an explosive potential?

"What's wrong?" Steve asked, and Claudia realized she hadn't said anything since he'd come into the room. "Artie told me you were sick, but you look… better. Are you still sick?"

And_ there_ came the nausea.

"Jinksy," Claudia whispered.

"What? What is it?" Steve suddenly looked worried. "Is it… serious? Are you contagious?"

Claudia laughed, and it felt amazing. "No," she said. "No, I'm not contagious."

"Okay, good," Steve said. "So… do you think you'll still be sick this weekend? We're supposed to go to Artie's poetry reading. I mean, I don't really _want_ to go, but if none of us show up I'm afraid he'll be all alone with his poetry. Him, and that weird girl that works at the bookstore."

"I think I'll be better," Claudia said.

"Good." Steve leaned in and kissed her on the forehead.

"In about nine months."

Steve froze and slowly pulled back from her. "Claud?" he asked faintly.

"I'm pregnant," Claudia whispered.

And in a hot, sweaty rush, she leaned over and threw up into the waiting trashcan.


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N:** I am just in love with this story, and it's so flattering that many of you are as well. Thanks to all my readers and reviewers, you guys rock!

I wrote the majority of this chapter while listening to "Speeches" by Walk Off The Earth. They're an amazing band, one of my favorites, and I absolutely love "Speeches." It's up on YouTube; give it a listen if you have the chance.

There's more to come soon. Let me know if there's anything in particular you'd like to see and I'll do my best to steer in that direction.

Enjoy!

* * *

_Their first dates were absolutely ruined. They didn't even qualify as dates, which Claudia felt was perfect, since she wasn't quite sure if their relationship qualified as a relationship._

_The first time they tried to go out, to dinner in Univille, Pete lit himself on fire with the first fire hydrant and they spent two hours chasing him around the Warehouse, putting him out repeatedly as he yelled, "No! Don't do it! I want to be the Human Torch!"_

_The next time they attempted a date – to the movies – Artie was involved in a car accident and they were forced to divert their date to the Rapid City ER to pick him up. He wasn't seriously injured, just more irritated than usual and badly bruised and shaken. And while they tried to rekindle the "date" atmosphere after dumping the crash test dummy off at the B&B, it was hard to do so in the living room while Artie moaned and groaned from the kitchen._

_On the morning before what would have been their third date, Claudia came down with a blinding migraine. She spent the rest of the day in her room with the shades down and heavy sunglasses over her eyes, trying not to move because every single breath felt like spears driving directly into her eyes. Steve tried to cheer her up by reading to her from __Geek__ magazine, but after three lines of an article on the practical applications of Google glasses, Claudia was begging him to stop. The migraine abated around nine-thirty that night, which was good, but since it ended with vomiting and Claudia breaking down into tears, it was an ending that didn't bode well for a date._

_The fourth time Steve suggested they go out and get dinner or, you know, "whatever," Claudia immediately shushed him and explained that so far, they hadn't had luck with a date, so why even bother trying? Instead, they should just take things as they came. And that meant they shouldn't plan anything, even "whatever."_

_Two weeks later, they ended up at the Univille Diner, sharing a piece of key lime pie. It had been a long and stressful day dealing with artifacts and a computer breach, and finally Steve could take no more of Claudia's stressed yelling. He literally picked her up from her computer chair and hauled her out of the Warehouse. She stopped punching him in the shoulder once they were in the car, and she was actually breathing calmly by the time they reached the diner._

_It was, after all, the most delicious pie she had ever had._

* * *

"You're _what?"_ Steve whispered.

Claudia wiped her mouth with the back of her hand and straightened up, a cold, shaky sweat overtaking her. She wasn't sure if Steve was angry or not; endless hours of vomiting and worrying had left her completely immune to understanding emotions, even her own.

"Pregnant?" Steve repeated. He sounded stunned. "As in… like… a baby?"

"Generally," Claudia croaked. "Usually that's how it ends."

Steve put one hand over his eyes.

"I mean, us being in close proximity to the Warehouse, it could have, like, three heads, but it'll probably be a baby."

Steve lowered his hand. "Claud."

"Yeah, Myka says it's not likely, but she doesn't know everything, even if she claims she does…"

"Claud."

"… and Mrs. Frederic says that because the Warehouse picked me to be the next Caretaker, it's going to see the baby as competing for my energy and that's why I can't stop puking and…"

"_Claud_," Steve said, and he put his hands under her chin and kissed her.

It had the desired effect; Claudia was instantly quiet.

"You're rambling," Steve said. Then he seemed to realize what he'd kissed, namely her vomit-streaked mouth, and frantically started wiping his mouth with his jacket sleeve. "Oh, Claud, _gross_."

"You kissed me," Claudia said grumpily. "How do you think I feel? I even _look_ at food – no, if I even _think_ about food, then I…"

She gagged and reached for the trashcan. Before she could get to it, Steve yanked it up from the floor and held it for her as she heaved and retched.

"Sorry," Steve said softly when she was finished. "I just… I just wanted you to slow down."

The combination of the kiss and the vomiting had effectively silenced Claudia, and she leaned back against the pillows, feeling overwhelmingly exhausted.

"Claud, this is…"

"Not what you were expecting."

"No, definitely not," Steve said.

Tears welled up in Claudia's eyes, and she ducked her head, furiously wiping them away with her sweaty hands.

"Oh, Claud, I'm not mad," Steve said, and he put his hand on her shoulder.

"I don't know why I'm crying," Claudia sobbed. "And if you say it's hormones I'm going to punch you."

Steve let out a low chuckle, and he shifted on the bed to sit next to her, taking one of her hot hands in his. "Can we try this again?"

"Mm-hmm," Claudia mumbled.

They sat for a moment in silence, Claudia loving the weight and security of Steve's hand in hers. It couldn't take away the sloshing sickness in her stomach, but it seemed to ground her, holding her to the world.

"Pregnant," Steve said, sounding stunned.

"Yep," Claudia said. "Pretty definitely."

With her free hand, she reached over to the bedside table and picked up the positive test, which she handed to him.

"How far along?"

"Seven weeks," Claudia said.

"Is this why you didn't answer the phone last night?"

"Part of it. The other part was that I couldn't move without vomiting."

"So, just like today?"

"Ha-ha, Jinksy." Claudia leaned her head back.

"Well, morning sickness abates at some point, right?"

Claudia shook her head, and then immediately regretted it. "Mrs. Frederic doesn't think so."

She was getting tired again, her body feeling heavy. "I haven't eaten for like three days, Steve. I'm not hungry, at least, I don't _feel_ hungry, but honestly, if I can't keep something down I think I might just pass out. I can't even keep my eyes open for more than about an hour at a time. Something's wrong."

Steve reached up and brushed hair away from her forehead. "What does Doctor Vanessa think?"

Claudia blinked. She could hear Steve still talking to her, but her head was getting heavier. It was getting difficult to hold it up, and her breathing slowed as she tried to compensate for the weight pushing down on her shoulders.

"Claud?"

Steve's voice was far away, calling to her like a horn through fog. She tried to straighten up, to respond, but she was floating, she was shoved down, she was left absolutely breathless.

"_Claud?!"_

She closed her eyes, and the last thing she heard was Steve's panicked voice: "_Help!"_

* * *

When she opened her eyes again, her heartbeat was pounding her ears, and she was flat on her back in a sterile, white room. "Oh, _crap_," she said, and her voice caught in her throat, rasping into the stillness of the room.

Almost immediately Vanessa was in her line of vision. The doctor looked drawn and weary. "Thank God," she said.

"Where are… where am I?" Claudia asked. She tried to push herself upright, but a loud roaring noise in her head and stabs of pain forced her back down.

"You're in the procedure room," Vanessa said. "Gave us quite a scare."

Instantly Claudia's hands went to her belly. "Is…?"

"Everything is all right, as far as I can tell," Vanessa said. "For now."

She moved closer to Claudia. "Your blood pressure was very low, which is why you passed out. My guess is that the low blood pressure was the result of the vomiting and dehydration."

"Yeah," Claudia said. "My body starving itself."

Vanessa nodded solemnly. "We put you out for a little while and I put in the semi-permanent IV line."

"How long was I out for?" Claudia asked, panic flooding her bloodstream.

Vanessa turned her watch. "About eight hours. It's almost ten."

"At night?"

"At night. Claudia, you were very ill," Vanessa said. "At least now we have a chance to…"

The doctor trailed off.

"To save the baby," Claudia guessed.

"No," Vanessa said, and shook her head. "To save _you_. If you drop like that again, I don't care what we have to do to get you back."

More tears rushed to Claudia's eyes, and she brought one hand up to block out the light. "Because the Warehouse chose me," she said, her voice somewhat muffled by her arm. "Because I'm the next Caretaker."

There was silence for a minute from Vanessa. Then the doctor spoke. "No, Claudia. It has nothing to do with the Warehouse, or you being Caretaker. It has to do with you being young, and healthy, and an important person to a lot of people. And though it might not be completely PC for a doctor to say so, I care a hell of a lot more about _you_ than a seven-week embryo."

The mention of other people sent another rush of adrenaline spiraling through the redhead's veins. "Did you have to tell Artie?" she demanded.

"Claudia," Vanessa said sharply. "There was no time. I had more important things to do than share _your_ news."

Claudia shrank back as though she'd been slapped.

Vanessa took a deep breath. "I'm sorry," she said. "I am glad you're all right. You're very strong, and this way both of you have a fighting chance. We can pump you full of fluids and anti-emetics, and supplement what you do manage to eat by mouth through the IV line."

The doctor turned away, ostensibly picking up supplies and tidying up the room.

For a moment Claudia fought with the turmoil surging within her, and then she managed to spit out "Van…" as she bolted upright.

Vanessa whirled, grabbed the trashcan, and held it up, just in time. Claudia heaved and retched.

"See," Vanessa said quietly when she was finished. "We have _got_ to get that under control."

As the momentary urge to puke subsided, Claudia realized two things: one, she was wearing an ugly green hospital gown; and two, a tube jutted out from under the loose collar of said gown, linking her to a bag of clear fluids and a bag of yellow fluids hanging overhead.

Uneasiness prickling at the nape of her neck, Claudia gently reached up and touched the tube. It didn't hurt. It didn't really register on any of her radars – it simply was.

"I was going to put in a PICC," Vanessa said. "In your arm. And then I thought that if you're going to be hanging around the Warehouse – and, let's face it, we all know you are – you would probably want the use of both of your arms. So it's in your chest. It'll be a little more effort to work with it, but it'll stay safer if it's tucked under your shirt."

"Thank you," Claudia whispered.

"I'll teach you – and Steve – how to care for it, make sure it stays clean and dry and patent, and we'll get this under control," Vanessa said. "Both of you have a lot of growth coming up."

Claudia was getting tired again, and the doctor could see it. "Would you like Steve to stay with you while you get some fluids and some rest?"

"Yes, please," Claudia said, and she curled up on the gurney, pulling her knees closer to her chest, wondering as she did so how much longer she'd be able to pull off_ that_ maneuver.

The door clicked open and Steve came in, looking pale and worried. "Hey," he said quietly. "Are you all right?"

"For now," Claudia said. "Just… please…"

She hoped he could do one of his magic Jinksy-mind-reads and know what she wanted; she was out of words or explanations. Almost immediately she felt Steve's comforting weight join her on the gurney, and he wrapped himself around her.

"It'll be okay, Claud," Steve whispered into her neck. "I'm here. You're safe."

"I am now," Claudia mumbled sleepily, and, anchored to the world, she drifted off, closing her eyes and surrendering to the soft dreamy landscape beyond.


	5. Chapter 5

**A/N: **Sorry this next chapter has taken me so long to get up. I've been very busy with work and trying to adjust to my new schedule.

Thanks to all my readers and reviewers - you guys are my inspiration to keep writing.

Enjoy!

* * *

With Steve's arms wrapped around her, Claudia's easy sleep lasted until five the next morning. She drifted in and out for forty-five minutes or so afterwards, and was finally awakened when Steve and Vanessa started to change the dressing around her newly-implanted IV line and hook her up to new bags of fluids.

Claudia's eyes flew open and she shoved herself upwards, nausea rising in her throat. Steve put a calming hand on her shoulder and held up the newly-cleaned trash can while she heaved and vomited.

"Hi," he said gently when she was done, and passed her a warm washcloth. "I am so sorry."

"It's okay," Claudia rasped. She was suddenly thirstier than she could ever remember being in her entire life, and she wondered how much of her pregnancy would be consumed with wanting things she knew she would never be able to have. Like a cold glass of water. Even the thought of a sweating glass with little cubes of ice –

Steve must have seen something in her body language, because he jerked back into position with the garbage can, and Claudia threw up again.

Tears in her eyes, she looked up at Steve. "We have to tell them," she said. "Now."

And so even though it was six in the morning, and even though Steve and Vanessa both had to help Claudia with the removal of her hospital gown and to redress herself, being careful to avoid the newly-implanted tubes, and even though Steve had to carry Claudia to his Prius, and even though she could barely sit up, her face pale and sweaty as she gritted her teeth, they drove back to the B&B. Steve parked as close as he could to the house, and then he came around to the passenger side. "You want me to carry you?"

"No," Claudia grit out, and she carefully swung her legs out of the Prius. "Just… catch me if I look like I'm going down. And get a garbage can ready, because I feel like I'm dying."

Steve looked down at her as she rubbed her sweaty palms on her jeans and took slow sips of air. "God, Claud, if you're this sick and you're only seven weeks…"

"Steve," Claudia cut him off.

"I'm just thinking about you," Steve said. "I mean, you've got an IV in your _chest_."

"Because I want this," Claudia said, and she put her head between her knees. "I didn't think I wanted this, and then… and then I realized…"

She trailed off, lamely waving one hand in the air.

"I know," Steve said, and he put one hand on the nape of her neck, the closest part of her to him, and awkwardly stroked her hair.

With her head still down, she said, "Steve?"

"Hmm, Claud?"

"We're in this together, right?"

A bird chirped in the tree behind Steve, and Claudia's hair under his hand was soft. "Yeah," he said finally. "We're in this together."

"Okay," Claudia said. "Now, move."

Steve pulled his hand from the back of her neck and jerked out of the way; Claudia threw up in the flower bed.

She took a minute to recover and Steve pulled her to her feet. "Come on," he said. "The faster we get this over, the faster you can go lay down."

"That sounds like heaven," she murmured.

He took her hand and they began the slow walk to the front door. Halfway there Steve had a thought. "Claud?"

"Hmm?"

"Wait right here," he said. "I'm going to go in and prep them."

"Prep them how?" Claudia asked suspiciously.

"Well, it's morning," Steve said. "And in the morning the people in this house generally do one communal activity… at a table… that has the potential to make you even more nauseous. So I'm going to go in and I'll get them to… I don't know, sit in the living room, so you don't have to look at their breakfast."

"You're a genius."

"Are you okay to stand here for a minute while I go do that?"

"Well, there's only one way to find out. If you come back and I've passed out, obviously the answer was '_no_.'"

"I don't love the snark, but I'm glad you're feeling at least well enough to spar with me," Steve said. "Be right back."

He bolted into the house. Sure enough, everyone was around the dining room table, and it was full of food.

Artie looked up from his newspaper as Steve hurried in like a wild man. "Steve? Where's Claudia? Is she all right? I've been trying to reach Vanessa on her cell phone but she must still be at the Warehouse because…"

"I'm sorry, Artie," Steve said, cutting off the older man. "Claudia is here. She's outside. She has something she wants to tell everyone, but she's still not feeling very well, so it would be best for her if we didn't do this around food."

Myka gave Steve a knowing nod.

Pete stopped stuffing Eggos in his mouth. "Can I at least finish this bite?" he asked, his mouth nearly full.

"Yes," Steve said.

"You're the man, Jinksy." Pete proceeded to chew as quickly and as loudly as he could.

"This is all very odd," Artie grumbled.

"Just… please… indulge me," Steve said. "I don't ask for a whole lot."

Artie appeared to consider this.

"Great," Steve said. "Everybody… come into the living room and close the doors to the dining room. I'll go get Claudia."

With that, he sprinted back out of the house. Claudia was almost in the same place he'd left her; she was propped up against the closed car door, still pasty white-green and swaying.

"Okay," he said. "They're in the living room."

"Jinksy, I don't feel good," Claudia said, her eyes closed.

"I know," Steve said. "Let's go get this over with and then you can lay down and I promise I'll put a cold washcloth on your head."

"How did you know that's what I wanted?"

"Well, because it's what my mother used to do for me whenever I was sick," Steve said. "It's… a thing. Maybe. Who knows."

He put his arm around her and together they walked into the B&B.

* * *

_It was confusing for Claudia, at first. She knew how to behave around Jinksy, when that Jinksy was her partner. When they were doing inventory. Or on a mission. Or… really, anything except romance. That part was where she found the most difficulty._

_It didn't help that their first dates were a series of non-outings, full of non-meals and non-movies. That their first real date was sharing a piece of pie after a disastrous day at work. Or that their second real date, a week after that, was to a funeral._

"_This doesn't count as a date," Steve said as Claudia tried to help him put on cuff-links._

"_Well, let's see," Claudia said. "We're wearing fancy clothes, we're taking off from work early, we're going to end the outing with a special meal. Sounds like a date to me."_

"_A Regent __died__ so we could have this 'date,'" Steve said, making air-quotes with his fingers._

"_Stop moving around!" Claudia ordered, trying to get the cuff-link through the button-hole._

_Steve obediently stood still. "It's still not a date."_

"_Jinksy, the guy was ninety-four," Claudia said. "It wasn't like he died in any tragic or exciting way. Therefore, the funeral service will be the boring part of our date, like sitting through the previews at the movies. Or driving to that stupid country-western bar we got dragged to last week."_

"_We were being supportive," Steve said. "HG was nervous about singing karaoke. And who can blame her, honestly? Can you believe she's been around for more than a hundred years and she's never been to a karaoke night?"_

_Claudia rolled her eyes._

"_Just… behave yourself," Steve said._

_Claudia slipped the cuff-link through the button-hole and fastened it. "Fine," she said._

_Steve smiled, and kissed her._

"_Easy," Claudia said. "Or this __will_ _be a date."_

_Steve grinned, and kissed her again._

"_Stop it," Claudia ordered, but she was smiling. "We're going to be late to the funeral of What's-His-Name."_

_Steve tucked her hair behind her ears, the way he liked it. "His name was Ferdinand Fassbinder."_

"_Yikes," Claudia said. "That's… a name."_

_Steve chuckled and straightened his tie._

"_But I guess, if any guy was going to make it to ninety-four, it'd be someone with a lasting name like Ferdinand Fassbinder," Claudia said._

_Steve shrugged into his sport coat. "Claud, promise me, if we ever have kids, we won't name them something ridiculous."_

"_What do you think is ridiculous?" Claudia asked from the corner, where she was putting on her shoes._

"_Uh…" Steve considered this. "Well…"_

_Claudia grinned._

"_Like… Sparkle."_

"_Oh, Jinksy," Claudia said. "That's not a name for a child. That's a name for a cat."_

_She grabbed her sweater from the bed. "And since when did you start thinking we're having children?"_

* * *

Claudia found that once she was in front of her family, she was out of words. Tongue-tied, throat dry, feeling absolutely empty and unsure of herself. If not for Steve's tight grip on her hand, she knew she would be on the floor, boneless like a pile of Jell-O.

Thinking Jell-O made her stomach start twisting again, and she swallowed hard. "Hi," she said in a weak, puny voice.

"She looks awful," Artie said to no one. "Doesn't she look awful?"

"So…" Claudia said.

Myka gave her an encouraging grin and a secretive thumbs-up.

"Claudia, do you want to go lay down?" Artie asked.

"There's nothing I would like more," Claudia said, and gave him a weak smile.

"You can talk to us later," Artie said, clearly taking charge. "Just… go lay down until you feel better."

"We would be waiting for a while," Steve said, and he squeezed Claudia's hand.

"I'm… oh, man, this is not… a conversation I ever imagined myself having… with any of you," Claudia said. She was clinging to Steve's hand like it was a lifeline. "Um… but now… here we are…"

"Are you dying?" Pete asked, sitting bolt upright.

"No, I'm not dying," Claudia said. The sudden burst of laughter from the room seemed to energize her. "I'm… pregnant."

There was stunned silence in the room and Claudia wondered if she'd suddenly gone deaf.

Then Pete laughed and clapped. "Way to _go_, Jinksy!"

Myka shot him a dirty look.

Artie dropped his glasses, which he had been twiddling. "You're… _what?"_

"Oh, pregnant, Artie," Pete said. "I know it's probably never come up in your life before, but when a man and a woman love each other very much and …"

HG whacked him on the back of the head.

"_Ow!"_

Artie lurched to his feet and stormed towards Steve. "How could you do this to her?" he demanded, poking Steve in the chest with one angry finger.

"Do this _to_ her?" Steve was flabbergasted. "I was there – I'm pretty sure it was a mutual thing!"

"And now she has to live with _your_ mistake!"

"Again, pretty sure it was mutual," Steve said, deeply offended.

"Well, at least it's not too late to take care of things," Artie said. "That way…"

"_No_." Claudia cut him off, her voice low and deadly. "Listen to me."

Artie turned towards her. She was faintly swaying again, and her face was sweaty and pale. "You are not my father," she said, "so where do you get off making Steve feel bad for his role in this?"

"I may not be your father but…"

"Steve and I are both adults," Claudia snapped. "Yes, this was unplanned, but…"

"I should _hope_ so!"

"… we will not be 'taking care of things,'" Claudia said. Her eyes were blazing and her tone was steely. "It's not a thing. It's a baby. And it's mine. It's _ours_."

She reached up with her free hand and pulled down the collar of her shirt just slightly, just enough so that Artie could see the IV line spiraling out from her chest. "Vanessa could have 'taken care of things' earlier, but she didn't. I didn't just get this put in me for _fun_. I did it because it's the last-ditch attempt to keep me healthy," she said. "Because I want to live long enough to meet whoever it is. And until you…"

She was losing steam, getting tired again. "Until you can see that there are some things bigger than planned events, bigger than what _you_ think is the best way to handle things… then I don't want to talk to you about it. I don't want to talk to you at all."

Claudia stopped abruptly. The room was spinning.

Artie took a step back.

"Now… I'm going…" Claudia waved one hand in the general direction of the stairs. "Jinksy, can you…?"

"Yep," Steve said, and he led her out of the room and up the stairs.

Once she was in bed, Claudia seemed to relax. Steve brought her a glass of water and a clean trash can.

"Did I do okay, Jinksy?" she mumbled, trying to find a comfortable place in bed.

"You did fine," he said, and squeezed her hand.

"Artie's pissed."

"Let him be pissed. It's not his decision. It's not anyone's decision but yours, and you made it. That's all that matters now."

"Jinksy?"

"Yeah, Claud?"

She pushed herself upright and leaned forward until her forehead touched his. "If we're doing this… I'm glad you're the one doing it with me."

"Me too," Steve said, feeling a lump rise in his throat. "Now… get some rest, okay?"

Claudia hesitated for just a moment, and then she leaned to one side, searching for the trash can. Steve held it up and waited. She retched and gagged but didn't vomit.

"Better," she breathed after a moment, and lay back, closing her eyes. "Hey."

"Hmmm?"

"Promise me you'll be here when I wake up."

"Unless Artie kills me," Steve promised.

She gave him a dreamy, dazed sort of smile, and closed her eyes. "We told 'em, didn't we?"

"We sure did," Steve said, and in the next minute he could tell Claudia was out. "Yeah, you sure did, Claud."

And then he went to get her a wet washcloth. After all, he had promised.


	6. Chapter 6

**A/N:** Thanks to all my readers and reviewers, and a special thanks to all of the people who checked in with me to make sure I hadn't forgotten about this story. I definitely have not!

Enjoy! More soon!

* * *

"I need the two of you on the next plane out of here," Artie said to Myka and Pete as he strode into the dining room, fat file folders in his hands.

"What? What about Claudia?"

"Tell me, Agent Bering, is there something you feel that you could do, by remaining here?" Artie asked, pushing up his glasses.

At that, Myka looked over at Pete.

"Don't look at me," her partner muttered. "Claudia can vomit by herself."

"What about emotional support?" Myka demanded of Artie.

"She has Steve for that," Artie said crisply. "Since he's already _supporting_ her in other ways."

"Dude, Artie, you gotta let that go," Pete said.

"Don't tell me –!" Artie took a deep breath and angrily let it out. "This isn't about me – or Steve – or even Claudia! It's about a DJ in a college town in Ohio who's dancing people to exhaustion. And it's about _you_ getting out there to stop her."

"Her? Ooh, a girl DJ," Pete said.

"Pete." Myka put her hand to her forehead.

"I'm just saying – in _my_ college town, all the DJs were dudes," Pete said. "Angry… sweaty… tweaked-out dudes."

He took a muffin from the center of the table and chomped into it.

"Artie, I don't think we should leave Claudia right now," Myka said. "She's vulnerable, she's upset, she's…"

"She will still be here and she will still be pregnant when you get back," Artie said sharply. "Now, there is one more thing I need to tell you about this mission."

"I know, I know – 'Pete, don't sleep with her,'' Pete said around his mouthful of muffin.

"I didn't even think about that," Artie said. "Good God."

"He _won't_," Myka said.

"Damn right he won't," Artie said. "We don't need any more babies around here."

"Nice going, Pete," Myka said. "Derailed _that_ one."

Pete shrugged and reached for a second muffin.

"Artie, what were you going to tell us?" Myka asked.

"Oh!" Artie pushed his glasses up again. "Someone else will be joining you."

"A _Regent?"_ Pete asked skeptically.

"No," Artie said. "An interpreter. She'll meet you at the airport in Ohio. Her picture's in your file."

"Someone who pretends to be objects?" Pete dropped what was left of his muffin.

"Not an _interpretive dancer_," Myka said disgustedly. "An _interpreter."_

"Same diff," Pete grunted.

"What do we need an interpreter for?" Myka asked, moving on to the real topic.

"The DJ is deaf," Artie said.

"A lot of DJs are def. And dude, Artie, when did you learn slang?" Pete looked up at his boss. "And now that you mention it, that sweater you're wearing is pretty def."

Artie gave Pete a confused look.

"Oh, my God," Myka muttered. "We are never going to get out of here. Pete, Artie means that the DJ is _hearing impaired_. Artie, 'def' spelled D-E-F is hip-hop slang that means 'cool' or 'awesome.'"

"How can a DJ be deaf?" Pete asked.

"That's one of many mysteries you can solve when you get to Chapel Harris, Ohio," Artie said. "Now – _go!"_

"Okay," Myka said. "And keep us updated on Claudia, okay?"

"We'll see," Artie said darkly.

* * *

As they hauled their suitcases through the airport in Cincinnati, Pete looked over at Myka. "I don't know if I like the idea of some sort of hitchhiker on one of our cases."

"She's not a hitchhiker," Myka said. "She's a Bureau-certified interpreter. She knows we work for the Warehouse and that she wouldn't be called in unless a case really required it. And it's not like you, Pete. You're always excited to have women come into your life, no matter why they show up."

Her partner said nothing.

"Is this because… your sister is deaf?"

"Plenty of people are deaf, Myka," Pete said. "I'm not opposed to all of them. I _am_ opposed to other people on our cases. They're dangerous and bizarre, and I don't want some civilian's death and-or injury on my conscience."

"You really think a case of a college DJ supposedly causing people to dance uncontrollably is really going to be our most dangerous case?"

"I don't know, Mykes," Pete said. "Some of our cases look innocent and sweet, but…"

He shook his head.

"You're not really thinking about this case, are you?" Myka asked.

"What else would I be thinking about?"

"Claudia."

"No, Mykes, you're projecting," Pete said. "That's what _you're_ thinking about."

Myka slowed.

"And honestly, I can't blame you," Pete said, looking back at his partner. "God, that's frightening."

Myka shifted her shoulder bag to her other shoulder and resumed walking at her frenetic pace. "It's not frightening. It's…"

"It's bizarre," Pete said. "Less so than our cases, but…"

"Claudia's practically a child herself," Myka said.

"Mykes," Pete said.

"I know she's not…" Myka said, having difficulty coming up with the right words. "I know the Warehouse chose her and I know she's going to be Caretaker, but…"

She stopped and sighed.

"But it's hard to remember that when you see her so sick and fragile," Pete finished.

Myka nodded. "For so long I've wanted our Warehouse family to have a normal life. And now… when someone in our family gets something normal and it almost _kills_ them?"

"It's just not fair," Pete agreed quietly.

"The Warehouse takes everything from us, Pete." Myka didn't look up at her partner.

"Mykes – Claudia is fine."

"For now. Who knows if the Warehouse will let her even keep the baby?"

Pete set his sport coat on top of his wheeled suitcase, then gently took Myka by the shoulders. "Here's the thing the Warehouse didn't count on, Mykes – it didn't count on Claudia. Girlfriend is so determined that she _broke into_ a government secret because she loved her brother so much and she refused to give up on him, even after twelve _years_. Do you really think that _that_ girl is just going to _let_ the Warehouse take away something she's committed to?"

"No," Myka said.

"And she's got Steve as her wing-man," Pete went on. "Although at this present time I don't quite understand the… well, you know… relationship aspects of their… relationship, and I don't really ever want to, here's what I know about Steve. He's focused, he's comforting, and he survived being dead. He and Claudia have a special bond that I don't really spend a lot of time thinking about, but if there was _anyone_ to get Claudia through this, it's Steve. The two of them will somehow overcome all sorts of horrible things – including, God willing, vomiting, because that's ridiculously gross, and Artie's anger, because that's ridiculously misplaced."

Myka smiled at him. "You're amazing, you know that, Lattimer?"

"I try," Pete said. "Now, come on, our interpreter's probably waiting at the curb and muttering about government incompetence as we speak."

"You're going to be the fun uncle," Myka said as they exited the airport.

"Damn straight."

* * *

Steve couldn't remember the last time he'd spent so much time in Claudia's room. They were usually elsewhere – causing trouble in the Warehouse, watching movies in the living room, eating pie at the Univille Diner, taking walks with Trailer – and even when they _were_ in Claudia's room, she was always extremely present. Bouncing around from one thing to the next, chattering up a storm, playing music for him, griping about something, making something out of spare parts (that usually ended up electrocuting him), or trying to solve the Warehouse's latest mysteries.

It was safe to say, then, that he had never been in Claudia's room like this, with her silent and unmoving on her bed, covers pulled up around her. Never had he been able to sit and read without her asking him questions. Never had he spent uninterrupted hours while fluids and medicines dripped into her, drop by drop into her uncomplaining, motionless body.

It unnerved him. It irritated him. And yet a part of him was grateful.

Grateful that she appeared to be getting some actual rest. Grateful that she was indeed getting sustenance, and medicine to stop the horrible vomiting. Grateful that the horrible vomiting had in fact stopped, at least for now.

Because even if he hadn't spent a lot of time with motionless, sleeping Claudia, he _had_ spent time with vomiting, unhappy, fragile Claudia, and he liked _her_ even less.

He was focused on the book in front of him when there was a soft knock at the door.

"Uh, come in," Steve said.

The door opened and Mrs. Frederic came in. She closed the door behind her.

"Hello, Agent Jinks," the Caretaker said.

"Hello," Steve said. He was puzzled. Didn't Mrs. Frederic's Caretaker magic mean that doors – and knocking – were a thing of the past?

"Sometimes the best way to enter a room is the quietest," Mrs. Frederic said, as though she had read his mind. She placed her small purse on Claudia's desk and pulled up the desk chair to face him. "How are you doing?"

"Me? I'm fine."

Mrs. Frederic said nothing for a moment, looking over at Claudia. The silence prickled at the back of Steve's neck, and his hands grew sweaty. He closed his book. "We're not… like, in trouble, or anything, are we?"

His voice was puny and weak in the stillness of the room.

Mrs. Frederic turned back to him. The look on her face was a mixture of confusion and amusement. "In trouble?"

"Uh, yeah," Steve said. "You know, for… uh… because Claudia's the next… uh…"

He was quickly running out of places to go with that train of thought, and was relieved when Mrs. Frederic took over. "No, Agent Jinks," she said. "The Warehouse has much to say about energies competing for the attention of its next Caretaker, but surprisingly little to say about matters of the heart. Unless of course you're standing in Aisle Buckingham Fifty-Two-Eight. Then…"

She smiled, and, unnerved by the expression on her face, Steve smiled back. He had no idea what the joke was about Buckingham 52-8, but resolved to go and look it up as soon as Mrs. Frederic was gone.

"I understand things probably haven't sunk in yet," the Caretaker went on. "It will probably hit you all at once that your life is going to change. But on the other hand, you are a remarkably centered man, and it wouldn't surprise me if that is what gets you through all of this."

She stood, moved the chair back to its original spot, and picked up her purse. "You have my full support in this matter, Agent Jinks. If you – or Agent Donovan – need anything, please let myself or Doctor Vanessa know immediately."

"Oh," Steve said. "Wow. Uh, thank you."

Mrs. Frederic nodded. "You're welcome."

She adjusted her glasses. "Now I must go and have a chat with Arthur. Seems he's not as thrilled about this joyous news as he could be."

"No," Steve agreed. "He's… definitely not. And Claudia's not strong enough to fight back right now."

"And that's why I'm here," Mrs. Frederic said. "I don't know how much I can do to repair Claudia's relationship with Artie, but I can do a great deal to change Artie's thinking on the matter. And if not… there's always a lobotomy."

She exited the room so swiftly and silently that it took Steve a minute to realize she'd gone and a good two minutes after that to realize she'd left on a joke.


End file.
